Welcome to Hyperion Records, an independent British classical label devoted to presenting high-quality recordings of music of all styles and from all periods from the twelfth century to the twenty-first.

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In the woods the little birds Sing sweet songs. In the meadow, beautiful flowers Bloom towards the May glow.

My feelings also blossom When thinking of her goodness; She enriches my soul As dreaming does for that of the pauper.

Another ‘spring song’, only this time very much more tender in mood with a simple almost folkish feel to the melody, reminiscent of Brahms at his most relaxed. The second stanza is superbly judged as the vocal line arches upwards in restrained ecstasy and then fals gently to express the final line of the text.

As I glimpsed the first violet, How I was bewitched by its colours and scents! I held this springtime messenger, full of joy, To my pulsating, hopeful breast.

Springtime is over, the violet is dead; All around me are blue and red flowers, I stand in their midst yet hardly see them as The violet appears to me in a springtime dream.

One of the finest of all Mendelssohn’s songs, the two verses being set independently as befits the text with the passing of spring magically evoked by a gentle turn towards the tonic minor. The point at which the violet reappears in a dream is a sublime moment of exquisite calm. Incidentally, Op 19a was intended either as song-settings or solo piano pieces, which partly explains the advance in the piano writing over Mendelssohn’s first two published sets of songs, Opp 8 and 9.

My son, whither do you go so late? Do not go out to the woods, Your sister you nevermore will find, O stay at home with me! Out there ’tis so cold, so rough, And fiercely blows the wind; You are all alone in the great wide forest, O stay with me my child!

O mother, mother let me go, Dry your teary eye, Surely I shall find my sister And bring her back to us. Lest I find her there will be no rest Nor peace in our abode; I am well used to snow and wind, And soon will be home with you.

The mother followed him with her gaze, As he went out to the woods; The wind grew quiet, the night passed But never did he return. And the snow melted, The wind blew away, Everywhere sunshine and blossoms And leaves did return: Yet the mother remained alone.

A swift Reiselied, the Presto carrying an additional ‘agitato’ marking. Unusually for Mendelssohn there is more than a touch of Schubert in the music’s dancing, self-propelling rhythms, not to say the brief piano postlude with its delightful throwaway pianissimo ending, as if the music was not quite sure when to stop.